Scopes on the Fatass
by CatMeisterCoal
Summary: Simmons is good at laser tag apparently and drags Grif along with him which he isn't too happy about. It all works out in the end though. Life has been good after all the fighting has ended.


How had it come to this? This thing he agreed was totally against everything he did and believed in is all for hi so-called friend. After months of bribing, begging, and black mail he had finally agreed to go play laser tag. Simmons should have known better than to ask Grif of all people to go play laser tag. In truth, no one was all that interested in playing the game. Some aspect or another reminded every member of one bad thing or another. It ranged from being shot at in Blood Gulch to competitive bouts with other Free Lancers. Whatever the reason, no one was all that interested in picking up a gun again even if it was a fake one. The only real exception might be Sarge who was a gun nut to begin with. Most importantly though, it was exercise and he was not happy about that.

Laser tag meant running around aiming lasers at people who were also running around. It is completely exhausting, even just thinking about it made Grif tired. Not much was able to disinterest let alone stop Simmons from pushing his weird desire to go shoot lasers at people. Grif didn't or rather couldn't understand his friend's interest in the game or the actuality that he wanted to play it. One thing he was sure of was that Simmons meant it and was willing to do nearly anything to get Grif to go with him. Grif would have said Simmons could just go by himself if he was that excited by the whole thing if it weren't for the fact that he knew Simmons which meant he knew how poorly Simmons dealt with social situations. What was the real kicker was that he had threatened to show extremely embarrassing photos of one of Grif's drunk adventures. It wasn't his fault that he decided to get drunk because they'd gotten real alcohol after having to deal with Donut's moonshine which, while not bad, wasn't exactly up to par. Grif has never been all that picky but he knew good food and drink when there was any so it lead to the particularly embarrassing bout of inebriation where Simmons decided to pull out a camera.

So, after paying for the game they were called into the maze where chaos then ensued. Here they were shooting at those damn camping snipers. Well, he guesses he can't complain since they're doing the same thing. The two of them had teamed up even though they're playing a mixed game with no teams. If they hadn't teamed up they'd probably just wind up arguing with each other in the middle of the game and make themselves easy targets for the other players. That isn't to say they aren't arguing now but at least they aren't shooting at each other.

"Damnit Grif, I told you to shoot the guys below us!" Simmons was shouting for the third time since they got up there after abandoning their former spot. They had gotten shot from the lower level again by the lower campers. It almost seemed as if barely anyone was moving around.

"Yeah, sure, for every one guy below there are five up top!" Grif shouts back at Simmons, tired of his kill-stealing ways.

"Well, maybe if you were better at aiming you'd get more!"

"That's not how it works!"

"What do you mean that's not how it works?! That's exactly how it works!"

"Not if there are less guys below!"

"There are the same guys below as there are up top!"

"How do you know?!"

"I just know!"

"Well, maybe there are but they're not together like they are up top!"

"Well, maybe you're just not aiming well enough!"

That's the moment when a couple of the other players decide to go up where they are and try to take the spot for themselves. The rest of the game involves juggling places with the other guys while trying to shoot at the others across the way. As it turns out there isn't as much running as Grif had expected but it's still exhausting. Simmons, of course, has to ruin his perfectly foul mood with wisecracks and totally embarrassing himself which is always funny to Grif. Eventually the game ends and everyone heads to the gate and puts the equipment away. They're both kind of sweaty even if they didn't run all that much but hey the equipment was heavy and the game is kind of stressful. Everyone's scores are going to be posted soon with whatever lame codename they picked which neither Simmons or Grif did. They had both picked their own names which caused some of the other players to raise a few eyebrows. The others probably thought they were getting way too into the game which isn't something Grif would think too far off from what Simmons would do.

For the time being Grif was just sitting on one of the few tables provided while waiting for Simmons to get back with drinks. The scores came on just as Simmons got back causing him to give a whoop of joy. Unsurprising to Grif he'd gotten fourteenth rank but shockingly enough Simmons got first rank. This was probably why Simmons had wanted to go play laser tag with someone. He was actually really good at it and thus gave him something to brag about. Grif's never really cared how skilled he was at anything really except for maybe in eating contests but he knows that Simmons cares. He could of just told Grif but that would destroy whatever ounce of manly pride the guy had left. This whole still looped back around to one question: why had Simmons asked Grif? He knew _why_ Simmons wanted to play this stupid game but why ask Grif?

"I told you that you needed to aim better," Simmons said in a tone that was in his iconic "I told you so" tone that Grif had grown so used to over the years. However, this time it's accompanied with an extremely giddy demeanor which is uncharacteristic for Simmons.

"Yeah, or maybe you just stole all my shots," Grif isn't all that annoyed because he doesn't really care all that much about the game anyway. Simmons as a competitive streak in him though when it comes to situations he's comfortable with.

"Or you just have bad aim. Either way I still beat everyone else," Simmons is speaking with the same energy as some kid on a sugar rush as they walk back to his (ironically) maroon truck. His eyes are firmly glued to the stupid little paper they were both given that told them who they shot, how many time they shot them, and where they shot them. The same info was given with who shot them. Grif had to admit it was good to see Simmons so happy. So he decided this is as good as a time as any.

"So, why me?" Grif asks casually. This causes Simmons to look up from his score sheet to give him a confused look.

"Why you?" he asks back not fully understanding Grif's meaning which causes Grif to role his eyes.

"Why did you ask me out of everyone to go with you?" Grif clarified hoping for a better answer.

"You're my friend and probably the only one I have any leverage with," he said while opening the door to the driver's side of the truck. Grif opened up the door to the passenger's seat.

"Yeah, I get that but why just me?" Now he was fully situated in his seat as is Simmons but he still hasn't even put his keys into the ignition. Simmons sits there for a bit staring out the window while thinking of an answer.

"I can tolerate you better than the others. Why? What do you think is the reason?" Simmons is studying Grif closely now trying to figure hi out.

"Hey, I'm just saying that to anyone outside from us would think it was a date," Grif put his hands up in a nonchalant gesture while shrugging. This gets Simmons riled up a bit making him puff up like an offended turkey.

"Wait, that's why you thought I asked you to come with me?!"

"Hey, all I'm saying is that other people saw it like that so it got me thinking."

"You actually considered that to be a possibility! That this was supposed to be a date?!"

"Well yeah, was that not what you wanted?"

"No! Why? Was it something you wanted?!"

"Kind of." Simmons freezes at this, all agitation drains from his face which is replaced by confusion. Grif is just as calm and casual saying it as he was at the beginning of the conversation. There isn't any hint that he's just taunting Simmons.

"You wanted this to be a date?" Simmons' voice is barely above a whisper as he continues to study Grif's expression.

"Not at first but later I realized what it seemed like, so yeah. I wanted and want it to be a date," Grif of course doesn't give a shit that he's laying down what appears to be some serious stuff on Simmons.

"Wait, you actually... feel something for me!?" The way he said it made it sound like the discovery of the century.

"Yeah." Now Simmons is completely flustered and doesn't seem to know how to deal with the situation.

"Why me!?"

"Why not you?'

"You think I'm a kissass!"

"No, I know you're a kissass." Simmons' head is on the steering wheel now like he can't handle anything life is throwing his way at the moment and it's all because of some stupid laser tag. He heaves a sigh as he processes what's happening right now.

"Since when?" Grif hums a little under his breath at this.

"Do you mean since when did I figure out that I 'feel something' for you?" Grif teases.

"Yes." Simmons sighs to no one and lays out his frustration on the dash board with his incessant tapping.

"Blood Gulch." Simmons lurches up with a particularly fascinating coffee stain now forgotten. He looks wide eyed at Grif while trying to discern any ill will. Finding none he responds in his squeaky tone he usually has for these kind of situations.

"All the way back then?!"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say something?!"

"There was a war, well, lots of wars going on plus you didn't seem interested. You were a kissass, are a kissass," Grif doesn't get why Simmons seems so concerned with it. He hadn't expressed much interest in anyone really.

"Wouldn't it have been better for you to let me know instead of me maybe never knowing?!'

"Dude, you know I'm not that serious." He does and he totally gets why Grif didn't tell him but that didn't make this situation any better.

"I didn't seem interested in anyone because, like you said, there was a lot of fighting going on," Simmons is as calm as Grif has been now. It was hard for him to contemplate a relationship let alone who could be interested in him. Grif is quiet at that and on a whim leans over to give Simmons a kiss while wrapping an arm around him. It's just a quick kiss but it gets the meaning across well enough and leaves Simmons tense and blushing.

"Yeah, I get that," Grif says before connecting his lips to Simmons' again this time fully accepted. They ease into each other more as they get braver with their tongues letting the other explore as much as they like. Simmons leans into Grif and wraps his mechanical arm around him while ruffling his hair with his human hand. Funny, his mechanical attachments hadn't bothered him the entire time they were out. Kissing is nice and is even nicer to Grif when Simmons travels lower to grab his butt and he lets Simmons know that. Suddenly, Simmons tears himself away and starts the car after putting on his seat belt. Grif puts on his and huffs, dissapointed that the kissing ended so soon.

"Can we go for icecream?" Grif is more down put now that he has been removed from Simmons' person.

"No," Simmons' tone is firm and doesn't seem to give room for argument.

"That's what people do on dates though. They get food."

"No, we're going back to the apartment." Grif sighs and leans his head on his hand.

"Do we have to just yet?" His tone is something of a whine like a kid not wanting to go to some boring event his parents were forcing him into.

"Yes," Simmons' answer is quick and sharp with his eyes never leaving the road.

"Why?"

"_Years_ of sexual frustration."

"Oh." Well, he could live with that.


End file.
